


Lost Boy

by Skullszeyes



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attraction, Boys Kissing, Crush at First Sight, First Crush, First Meetings, Fluff, Friendship, Homelessness, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Inspired by Fanfiction, Kissing, Love at First Sight, M/M, Magic, Magical Realism, Male Slash, Mischief, Neverland (Once Upon a Time), Obsession, Peter Pan | Malcolm is not Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold's Parent, Protective Peter Pan | Malcolm, Underage Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-14 23:04:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20608808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skullszeyes/pseuds/Skullszeyes
Summary: Peter is interested in a certain orphan who lives on the street, he goes to see him personally.





	Lost Boy

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write this type of fic cause it was inspired by a fanfic I wrote for Peter/Felix on my fanfiction.net blog thing. This is longer than that one, but I guess it's more like an updated version of the previous fic I wrote. :D I sort of want to write another Peter/Felix, but this one took a long time to get into, so I don't know, maybe if an idea pops up, I'll figure something out.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Comments and/or Kudo's are appreciative.

The world had begun to die out once again. He traveled through the night upon stars and shadows and everything between. The sun fell along the horizon, and the moon rose to meet the night sky where the chill rose in waves upon the wind. 

It won’t be winter soon where the flakes of snow will cover the city into a white blanket, and the crevices of all the buildings will be dark with shadow. This transition will last for months until the spring melts everything and brings forth the green leaves and grass of summer’s embrace. 

For now, the dead is what Peter is surrounded by as he lands on the cement. He walks with a confident stride under the lamplight's of the streets that are empty. Except, he knows he’s going in the right direction. One that leads him to laughter and loneliness that rise with the cold chill of the autumn breeze. 

This particular orphan is older than the ones he brought to Neverland. Barely an adult, but has most of the features of one that will soon learn more of the darker aspects of adulthood, unless he already knows the struggle of looking out for himself from the way he plays pranks on adults, and escapes the authorities. 

Peter can’t seem to get his laughter out of his head since he first heard it through his shadow. He watched him longer than he should, wondering if it was good enough to take the boy from the streets of poverty where he finds himself sleeping in abandoned homes, curled up in a ball. By day, he begs for money, for food, for jobs he’s unfit to work at, and when he can’t get anything, he resorts to other means, ones that are more devious and cunning that Peter is enthralled by the way the boy works his way into shops that are previously locked before he got his hands on them. 

He’s quick with thin fingers and sharp eyes. His body is lean, not barely skeletal, but light enough that he doesn’t make a sound as if he’s one of the mice that scurries throughout the walls. His smile splays on his face, amused by what he can do in a matter of seconds. 

He gave everyone a chance, and when they didn’t give him one, he decided to take what he wants. 

Peter had watched one of these moments fail. And the boy laughed, sprinting as quick as he can through the streets, the store clerk was barely able to keep up. Peter was entranced by this unlike anything he has ever been before. His heart raced, and his mind spun while he watched the boy with the blonde hair, barely washed and unruly, fly through with a smile on his pale pink mouth, and the boyish and cheeky laugh sung in the air had grown an obsession in Peter’s aching heart. 

This was real. 

Wasn’t it?

It was the reason why Peter had come personally. Why he walked the dark streets, ignoring the people who wandered by, taller and more mature, or less mature, most people hadn’t even matured even when they aged past childhood or teenage years. Some stayed the same in their perpetual childishness that it was aggravating to a fault. 

None of them were as captivating as this one individual and he had to have him, he had to bring him back to Neverland before he aged into a man. And by his rather tall and angular features, he was getting quite close to the mark. 

Outside of Neverland, it always felt like a fragment of himself barely breathing. He couldn’t sustain himself in this world exactly, not the way that he liked. It’s the reason why he let his shadow locate the ones that were needed to come to Neverland. Other times, he was busy dealing with the ones who cried, who fought each other, and to organize the ones that were loyal to him. 

It didn’t take long of course, it never did. 

Away from home, from parents, and other authorities that would stop their youthful minds from decaying into adulthood helped them see the truth of this freedom. Peter was giving them a gift, one that they could have for a long time if they followed him, and gave him their loyalty and trust. 

It was a sanctuary that most didn’t understand. There were rules that were meant to be followed, and if they weren’t, there were also strict punishments. This helped chip off their confidence and other needless things that Peter didn’t want on Neverland. 

If they were going to play, they needed to follow the rules.

Which was another issue he will have to deal with once he finds the boy he spotted. He lets his magic search him out, the memory of him fresh on his mind, and Peter smiles to himself as he walks across the street, into an alley, down another street, and further into an alley, and this leads him to an old warehouse with three stories. Most of the building was empty besides forgotten crates and machinery. 

This was the place where the boy was, and soon this excursion will end, and they’ll return to Neverland. He never did like being away for far too long. 

Peter steps toward a door on the side where his magic has already swung it open for him to walk through. The entire warehouse looks empty with all its lingering deep shadows, but he lets his magic flow throughout it, seeking and wondering, as he wanders in the center. It’s quiet and eerie, but he senses more than he can see. 

Several people are here as well, not as unusual as Peter would guess, but it doesn’t matter. They aren’t why he’s there. 

Peter closes his eyes and smells the air. 

Sunlight and warmth, snowfall upon chilly fingers, blood under the fingernails, ice in the veins while fire burns in the eyes of swathed moonlight. 

He’s close by, maybe on the second floor. Peter raises his chin, and opens his eyes, smiling softly as he pushes against his magic that feels more dense than usual. As if it’s heavy instead of flowing light on his fingers, but even with the restriction in this world, Peter is able to fly up to the second floor where his feet land on the metal railing that’s rusting from age. He balances, a smile twitched upon his face as he walks along it.

“You’ll fall,” came the voice from the darkness near the wide window. Peter can barely see him, but he senses his presence, and his magic wavers around the boy, a beacon for Peter to know where he is, to understand that he’s the one he’s been looking for all this time. 

“I think I’m doing quite well,” Peter tells him, balancing, moving one foot in front of the other, but letting his body falter, breath caught, a nervous smile on his lips as he looks to the shadow. The boy hadn’t moved, and he’s watching, a curious glance, but nothing more. 

“Your funeral.”

“I’m guessing you have other places to go,” Peter says, settling his shoulders back, and walking normally along the railing, listening to metal scrape against the bolts that hold it to the floor. 

“Don’t we all?” says the boy, speaking in less than a whisper, and Peter can hear the dull tone in his voice, unlike the whimsical laughter he had heard during the boy’s escape, there’s not even a single mischievous glint in his grey eyes. There’s only tiredness, yet intrigue that is barely a flicker, and would surely go out soon enough. 

Peter didn’t want to strain the boy’s focus, but he needed it as much as he can, he couldn’t lose it to sleep, not now, not yet. 

“Would you like to escape this place?” Peter asked, sounding idle as he turned swiftly, the railing creaked as he placed his foot before him, walking along it, balancing as if it were a struggle, even though he knew his magic surrounds this entire warehouse full of abandoned things. 

“Not everyone can free themselves from what has already happened,” the boy murmurs, curling against his ragged brown coat while the hood covers his mop of blond hair. The shadows curve along prominent cheekbones and a strong jawline. He’s handsome, and has grown into a body of a man, yet not fully there until another year. Maybe closer than Peter hoped. 

“You’re an orphan crying out,” Peter muses.

The boy goes silent, but Peter can hear his heart racing at that proclamation, and it was enough to get his attention. He’s no longer focused on sleep, and seems to be focused on Peter while he balances on the railing in the moonlight. 

“They always said it was my fault.”

“Adults,” Peter wrinkles his nose, “always blaming a child for things that aren’t their fault when they can’t even take responsibility for what they’ve done.”

“My parents died, so maybe they did take responsibility.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to be reminded of something that has nothing to do with you,” Peter tells him. 

“I was with them when they died,” the boy says, quiet and shadowed, but he shifts where he sits, and leans forward. 

Peter glimpses a pointed nose and a long face, his blonde bangs barely cover his grey eyes, but he can feel them on him, watching and contemplating. It’s a nice feeling, one that brings a smirk to his face.

“And did you kill them?” Peter wondered, a laugh in his voice, it’s not a joke in anyway, but a simple way to keep things light. He can’t lower his voice and frown at the boy, he doesn’t want to give him pity for something that has already happened, and he won’t submit to something like that when Peter no longer thinks about his own parents. 

“No,” he said, tiredness mixes with humor, “I didn’t kill them, they just like to pretend that I did just because I was the one that survived. My father was quite rich, he wanted me to go to boarding school, while my mother hoped that I’d stop fooling around, she always knew what I was doing with my friends.”

Peter wants to ask what he means, but he’d rather not wonder about it. This isn’t something he desires to think of. Maybe another time when Peter can look at the boy with trust in his eyes. 

“Is that why you ran away?” Peter inquires, “because they thought you killed your parents?”

“My aunt took me in, and she wanted to do what my father wanted for me,” the boy says with a sigh, “but I didn’t want too, so I left with her money that lasted me less than a month, and by the time I found this place, my fingers almost turned blue.”

When was that? A year ago, two years ago? How long did he suffer for on his own, and who did he meet during that time?

“You took things into your own hands,” Peter says, turning to the boy, “that’s amazing, much more than I thought.”

“Yeah,” the boy looks down at his hands, the solemn is not missed from his voice, “I always think about my aunt talking about it with her friends during the evening before I left. I was eavesdropping, and she was...frightened. She loved her brother, and she hated dealing with me when all I wanted was to mourn my parents. My aunt didn’t want to keep me, and she signed me up for boarding school across the country. She said it would be better if I was far away from the family.” 

Peter was surprised there was no sign of bitterness in his voice. “Would you like to go somewhere a lot warmer than this place?” Peter asked him. “A jungle maybe, a beach with nothing but the stars and the ocean to stare at without a single snowflake ever touching you?” 

The boy scoffed, a smile on his lips, at least he was amused by Peter’s proposition. Not many can give the effect this boy was giving to Peter. A warmth in his body, a challenge in his fingers, a smirk that spoke more wonders of the world, and more threats that a barking dog or even a man with a knife could proclaim. This was a boy who knew more, and was haunted by what he witnessed by himself, alone in the world.

He was everything Peter wanted. 

“You’re not some kind of spy,” the boy says, getting up from the floor where he was sitting, and walks into the moonlight. The hood still shadows his face, and there’s a measure of cockiness that speaks through his grey eyes and crooked smile that looks both menacing and starving at the same time. 

“Why would I be?” Peter asks, almost rocking back and forth on the railing, letting his magic, as thick as it was, hold him close while watching the boy’s apprehension grow.

“You’re asking me something that you can’t give me.”

Peter snickers, watching the boy furrow his brows at him. “I can give you what I promise, but you should first give me your name.”

The boy is slightly taken aback. “Why?”

Peter shrugs dismissively, “Names are secretive and special. Not many should tell their names unless they trust the other, it’s kind of like a handshake, a pinky-promise, a love confession.”

“Confession?”

Peter nods, smirking once more, “It’s exactly what it is, why lie about its importance unless you’re not giving it away to a person who is trustworthy, then lie all you want, but in this case, I would like your name.”

The boy raises his chin, defiant. “Tell me yours.”

“Ah, but you must tell me yours before I reveal my own,” Peter tells him, “it’s only right that you do so I can give you more than you can ever imagine.”

“I feel like this is a dream,” the boy shakes his head, laughing, “an impossible dream of a boy balancing on a railing...and asking for my name as if you’re taking me to a faraway island.”

So he had the dream. Interesting. 

“That island is everything, is it not?” Peter asks. “It can give you everything.”

The boy steps closer, a smile more warm than the crookedness of the last he had given. This was amusement, soft within the dust covered warehouse where the sleeping homeless people lie. “You’re quite interesting...I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere.”

He must’ve, but it doesn’t matter. Everyone who visits Neverland in a dream forgets the place immediately. This was no exception. 

“If you come with me,” Peter says, “you won’t ever be alone again.”

“Will you be there?” the boy wonders, his brows knitted together, confliction and contemplation, a mix of thoughts and emotions spiral in his grey eyes that are heavy with bags underneath. 

“Does it matter if you know my name?” 

“I would like to know it,” Peter said. His heart was racing again, aching, aching, aching. 

“If I said no?”

“Then you can lie back down in this empty, awful place, and I won’t ever bother you again,” Peter says, smiling wider, even if a part of him knows that he doesn’t want to leave this boy like this, to grow up the way he shouldn’t have to experience. What he’s giving him is better than anything he’ll ever know. 

The boy stepped, dangerously, closer to Peter. His chin rising, his grey eyes penetrating into Peter’s green eyes. It felt strange, as if he was off balance, and his magic faltering from between his fingertips, and before he knew it, he was falling backwards, and a gasp left his lips. 

He had to grasp hold but this place was thick and dense, and it was hard to call his magic, but he didn’t have too as the front of his tunic was pulled and he was yanked forward into the boy, both of them landing on the floor, dust flying into the air from the ground as Peter laid on top, for a second, feeling how thin and bony he was underneath the overcoat. 

He raised himself, but stalled when he looked down where he met grey eyes once more, but this time, the hood had fallen as the boy pushed himself up onto his elbows, and he had also gone still. 

He was beautiful as that snowy day when he sprinted away from the store clerk. Beautiful when he laughed and smiled, and wore mischief and cleverness as much as Peter did. 

Peter was thinking so much that the boy smiled at him, a little taken aback, but not shoving Peter off of him. There was comfort and confliction that replaced anything else, before softness caressed his mouth as it turned down, and his brows pushed together.

What…?

The boy leaned toward Peter, and his fingers found the side of Peter’s face, barely touching along his jawline and up to his cheek, before the boy leaned the rest of the way, and their mouths touched in a soft, and unexpected kiss. 

Peter’s heart raced, and he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands besides reaching forward for the boy’s shoulders that were as bony as the rest of his body, and pulled him closer until the kiss was no longer soft, but warm and wet with a desire that Peter was unsure of, but not new too since the first moment he was entranced by the boy in the street.

They pulled away, panting with pink on their cheeks, and a shadow in their eyes that grows with the smile that pulls on their lips, identical in nature as whatever they’re feeling is exactly the same, familiar and hungry. 

“Felix,” the boy murmurs, almost leaning forward to kiss Peter again, turning his head to possibly deepen the kiss as his fingers have found Peter’s waist, barely pulling him as close as Peter wants him to be. “You’re not a dream…”

“I never said I was,” Peter says to Felix. The name echoes in his head, and it feels right for him to know this particular boy’s name because now he knows its his forever, and he’s not about to let him go.

“What is your name...since I exchanged my own,” Felix asks, his fingers retreating from Peter’s side. 

“The exchange was to bring you to the island, not to know my name,” Peter tells him, smirking at Felix’s frown. “But since you’ll be around for some time, my name is Peter, Peter Pan.”

Felix grinned, and it was the exact same smile that Peter had seen out in the street when he ran. The utter elation of freedom coursing through his veins, the sense that the world belonged to him and him alone. 

Not anymore, because Peter was bringing him to Neverland, and that world will be more than the one he had been subjected too. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Peter,” Felix says, and then Peter lets him kiss him again, and it releases the tension through his body as Peter pulls the magic around them and whispers to his newfound Lost Boy.

“Don’t let go of my hand if you don’t want to fall,” said Peter.

“If this isn’t a dream in anyway,” Felix says, surprised by the levitation between them as he grips Peter’s hand, and looks at him with that same enthusiasm that sends Peter’s heart racing, “I will never let go.”

That’s exactly why Peter wanted him, the trust and loyalty in this boy’s face, in Felix’s grey eyes, and smile that speaks of freedom and mischief, was rare amongst the Lost Boy’s Peter had found throughout the centuries, and there’ll probably won’t be another like Felix. 

As they fly through the air, Felix asks where they are going. 

“Neverland,” Peter said, “we’re going to Neverland.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was longer than I hoped. It kind of just went on and on. I had to end it at some point. LOL. I went with the whole no Malcolm thing because I hated that plot when it was revealed. I wasn't sure how I was going to write Peter and Felix be in something romantic or whatever, so I just wrote whatever. 
> 
> btw this hasn't been edited, so if you see errors, don't mind those. I'm tired, I'm going to sleep. 
> 
> Hopefully it was fine. :D 
> 
> Comments and/or Kudo's are appreciative.


End file.
